Spin (The Indigo Lounge Series) (18 page)

Everything fell away, every human being in the vicinity ceased to exist as she stared at the god before her. The vaguely familiar god...

His shoulders were wide, strong and imposing. He was breathtakingly tall, easily six-foot four, with hair as black as the T-shirt he wore with black jeans that emphasized narrow hips and taut, manly thighs.

Weathered boots and a chocolate-colored leather jacket completed the package but did nothing to disguise the air of raw masculinity that vibrated from him.

He stared at her as if he had the right to, as if he owned her and intended to claim her right there and then.

Bethany’s pulse raced as she stared back, feeling extremely vulnerable but unable to pull her gaze away.

He moved one more step and stopped right before her, threatening to block out even the sunlight.

“Welcome to The Indigo Lounge.”

His voice, like honeyed gravel, rough yet melodic, sent another wave of heat right through her.

Bethany had no trouble imagining it during sex, whispering hot, dirty things to her as he fucked her. God, he probably fucked like a goddamn champion.

What the hell had he said? Welcome?

“Umm...thank you.”

He finally broke his electric focus and nodded over to a spare desk. As if conjured up by magic, another blonde goddess appeared behind it.

This one seemed to have eyes only for the man in front of her. No surprise there. But the avid interest in the woman’s gaze made Bethany itch to wipe the smile from her face.

“Serena, can you check in Miss...?” He looked at her, one brow raised.

Bethany forced herself to focus. “Green. Bethany Green.”

His eyes gleamed, then his lashes swept down to shield his expression. He nodded and turned to Serena. “Check Miss Green in, and arrange for my bags to be moved, too. I’m joining this I.L. trip.”

Serena’s eyebrows hit her carefully arranged bangs. “You’re no longer heading to the West Coast?”

His nostrils flared slightly, and his jaw protruded as if he was battling with himself. Finally, he smiled. “No. Change of plan. Can I rely on you to arrange that, Serena?”

Of course he could. Serena’s simpering smile indicated Mr. Sex God could rely on her to arrange everything to suit him—including herself should the whim take him.

“Right away, sir.”

Sex God smiled. “Not quite right away, Serena. First, please assist Miss Green.”

Stormy grey eyes locked onto her once more. There was something about him that was so devastatingly powerful, Bethany had to force herself to look away, desperately willing her brain cells to track when Serena asked for her passport.

She handed it over, along with her copy of the Indigo Lounge agreement, which she’d signed in triplicate. All the while, the burn of his gaze silently branded her.

When Serena fake-smiled and handed back her passport, Bethany’s hand shook as she placed it in her purse. The force of his stare was that little bit too much for comfort.

“If you leave your bags right here, they will be taken onto the plane. Your hostess, Tracy, will be here in a moment to introduce you to your team and she’ll arrange the final search.”

“Search?”

Serena’s fake-smile stretched wider. “It’s our company policy to do a drugs search before our clients board. It’s right there in the agreement you signed. Mr. Savage’s rules about drug use on his planes are very strict.”

Bethany’s teeth ground together at the patronizing tone but she forced a smile. “Sure. If Mr. Savage insists.”

“He does,” Serena emphasized, casting another simpering look past her at the Sex God.

Bethany glanced over at him too and caught his faint look of amusement. But the moment their eyes met, amusement faded, replaced by sizzling, possessive heat once more.

He shifted as if the same restless energy that prowled through her, stormed through him as well. His fingers flexed, then he jammed them into his back pockets. The movement stretched the material of his T-shirt over his powerful biceps, making her mouth water.

She struggled to rein in her reeling senses. She’d never felt like this before, not even with Chris—

Yeah...Chris.
Not thinking about him right now!

“Allow me to escort you to your hostess,” the man said, rocking forward on his feet.

She wanted to ask him who he was, why he was taking an interest in her check-in, but the chemistry between them was blatant enough, powerful enough, that words seemed superfluous.

Despite her floundering, despite the puzzlement as to why such a sexy and gorgeous man was watching her with barely contained hunger, she couldn’t dismiss the bone-deep truth firing through body.

Bethany wanted to fuck him. Pure and simple.

Except there would be nothing pure or simple about it.

The jaded wariness she saw in his eyes didn’t detract from the raw sexual experience that lingered within the grey depths. Sex with this man would be insanely filthy; it would be nasty and sweaty. It would also be beautiful and complicated beyond words. She knew it as surely as she knew her name.

Without answering, she nodded and fell into step beside him.

Behind her, Serena gushed about seeing to his needs, but neither of them paid her comments any attention.

His scent, warm, lemony with a hint of spice, filled Bethany’s head along with a dizzying progression of filthy thoughts. God, she wanted to lick him in places she’d never once dreamed of licking a man! And that was just the beginning...

He led her through the doors he’d emerged from what felt like an eternity ago. A set of luxuriously carpeted stairs led to another door on the mezzanine level.

He stood to one side and waved her up, a wicked smile curving his sensuous lips. “After you, Miss Green.”

Thank God she’d shaved her legs last night, was her first thought. Her second was whether her panties were visible through the thin fabric of the flirty yellow Vera Wang summer dress Keely had insisted she wear.

Oh, what the hell did it matter?

Propriety had gone out the window the moment she’d set eyes on this man. All the same, she couldn’t stop her hand from fluttering against the back of her dress as she mounted the stairs.

She heard his soft hiss and belatedly realized that all she’d done was succeed in plastering the material against her ass. Her Kardashian ass, as Keely liked to call it.

By far it was her worst feature, ridiculously large in comparison to the rest of her body. While her breasts were an okay size and her stomach and thighs, having been primed with ballet from an early age, responded well to exercise, her ass let her down every time. It was why she’d given up her dreams of becoming a prima ballerina.

She reached the top of the stairs and quickly dropped her hand.

Before she could open it, he reached past her and threw the door open.

The moment she entered, she knew why she’d felt the weird sensation as she’d walked into the Executive Guest Suite.

Moving forward, she stopped in front of the glass wall, her heart hammering wildly in her throat as she looked down into the open space below.

“You were in this room when I came in.” It wasn’t a question. It was another certainty that stemmed from her soul.

“Yes.” His voice, hypnotic and sexy as hell, washed over her.

“You saw me.”

“Yes.” He was closer, close enough for her to smell him again.

“And you came downstairs?”

“I couldn’t not.”

She turned. He stood less than a pace away, those mesmerizing eyes on her. Again, his shoulders and his hands moved restlessly, as if he were physically restraining himself from touching her.

“So, what now?”

His gaze raked her from head to toe and back again. His lips parted and his tongue traced the inside of his lower lip. “Now you place your hands on the wall behind you and spread your legs.”

Stunned excitement rocked through her, but she forced herself to breathe, to remain lucid. “W...why would I want to do that?”

His smile was filled with pure sin. “For your drug search, of course.”

“What...what about Tracy?”

His smile disappeared. “She won’t be conducting the search. I brought you here because now I’ve seen you, now I have you, Bethany Green, I refuse to let anyone else touch you.”

He took that last step until they were a whisper apart. His head lowered and his nostrils flared as he breathed her in, the sharp tinge of need in his every exhale. “Are you ready?” he rasped.

She looked up at him, every nerve in her body tightening with need.

“No. You’re about to put your hands on me and I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Zachary Savage. You can call me Zach. In fact, I prefer it. Because Zachary is too long for the many times I intend for you to scream my name when I make you come.”

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The Art of Seduction

by Lorraine Wilson

LAURA

“C
ome in.”

Jack’s studio is light, the walls painted a stark white. It’s the only room in the apartment not smothered in neutral cream. One wall is given over entirely to glass and looks out onto the fabulous city skyline.

He’s sitting at a large desk with his back to me. A faint scent of oil paints and turpentine perfumes the air.

I gulp, my earlier bravado evaporating upon sight of the purple couch, which on closer examination appears to be a chaise longue. It stands at the far side of the studio, the only splash of colour in the space. My breath catches at the top of my lungs and I swallow hard. Can I really do this?

Go for it.
A little voice whispers inside me.

Ha! I don’t think so.

I suddenly wish I’d worn underwear after all.

“Where do you want me?” My cheeks flush and I cringe. 

“Over there.” He gestures towards the chaise longue. He isn’t looking at me, but concentrating on images on the screen of his Mac instead. His camera is plugged into a USB port on the back of the computer.

I swallow hard and walk self-consciously to the couch, then sit, swinging my legs up to one side, keeping them clamped together.

Now I have Jack’s full attention. He stares hard at me, eyes fixing on the slit of the robe as it parts to expose my calves. Every muscle and fibre of my body tenses with apprehension, with need, with expectation... 

How in the hell did I get here?

I’m nervous but there’s something in the way Jack stares that makes my courage grow again.

“You’re beautiful, you know.” His voice is hoarse.

Beautiful?

No one’s ever told me I’m beautiful before. The appreciation feels intoxicating, empowering.

“Am I?” A slow smile creeps across my face.

“Laura, I think you are going to be my masterpiece.”

The words flood me with reassurance and bolster my confidence.

“How would you like the robe?”

I let it gape a little at my neck, exposing the swell of the tops of my breasts and watch his response, the clouding of his sharp blue eyes into dark pools of desire. At this moment I feel like the sexiest woman alive. My apprehension ebbs away and my nipples stiffen. I glance down; they’re protruding through the silk robe.

Looking back up I catch Jack’s eye and bite my lip. He’s seen, there’s no doubt about it. Heat floods my cheeks and I burn. I’m growing wet between my legs. I’m wet for Jack and the knowledge sends shock waves of desire through my body.

I stretch back a little, letting the robe slip a little further down, exposing more flesh.

Jack’s hands tremble as he sketches me. Seeing the tremor, knowing I’m the cause of it, is intoxicating.

Ha! Take that, Jack McClaren. You’re not the only one who can take control. It’s time for me to take charge, to take the robe off. Just this once I’m going to see where the flow takes me.

I hesitate, my hands gripping the couch and refusing to move, seemingly embedded in the velvet. The room is utterly quiet except for the scratch of charcoal on paper. Outside the sky darkens, thick grey clouds roll in, colouring the landscape. Raindrops are now pelting the roof, the sound filling the studio, breaking the silence. The raindrops become heavier and heavier until the rain lashes deafeningly on the penthouse roof.

Still my hands refuse to move. Maybe I’ll just wait until he finishes sketching. Or maybe, maybe...

JACK

I curse and throw down my stick of charcoal. This is impossible. How can I sketch when my hands are shaking? And why are they even shaking in the first place?

I tried to focus on uploading the images from my camera while Laura bathed. But all I’d been able to think about was the water pooling around her naked body. In my mind the bath tub was full of rose petals, pinks and reds vivid against her creamy white skin.

I make a mental note to buy a shedload of roses. But how am I supposed to paint while consumed by this ravenous hunger for her? Like a prowling lion the need to fuck paces inside me, refusing to be tamed.

“What’s the matter?” she asks. “Am I sitting wrong?”

“Nope. You’re...perfect.” I sigh. “That’s the problem.”

“Why is that a problem?” She stares back at me, wide-eyed, desire and innocence combined in an irresistible combination.

“You know why.”

Coming back to the studio hasn’t helped. I’d hoped it might put things back on a more professional footing. Maybe it’s time to do what I do best, to get back on top of things, so to speak...

Hell, they’re my own rules. I made them so why shouldn’t I break them?

I cross the room and crouch in front of Laura, staring at her critically, tilting my head to examine her. She shivers.

“For instance this curve from your neck down to your shoulder.”

I trail my finger lightly across her skin. She jerks as though I’ve given her an electric shock.

“Uh huh?” She blinks.

“This curve is calling out to be kissed. And that curve there and this bit and... All of you is clamouring to be kissed and I can’t concentrate for the noise of it.”